


A Singing of Sorrow, A Whisper of Hope

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Families of Choice, Grief/Mourning, Mother's Day, Multi, Schmoop, Stilinski Family Feels, Talking To Dead People
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 14:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1651556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mother’s Day is a time of remembering those who are gone, and celebrating those who are still here. And maybe a chance for some revelations along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Singing of Sorrow, A Whisper of Hope

**Author's Note:**

> This was original written for Prompt #70 - Mother's Day at fullmoon_ficlet. I hadn't planned on writing something this long, but it got away from me and I let it ramble wherever it needed to go. Also, I never wrote sour skittles before this week, and apparently I wrote it twice. Huh. As always, I do not own the world or characters of Teen Wolf, I just like to write about them.
> 
>  **Note** : After last night's experience, anonymous commenting is turned off. If you have something mean to say, please say it as yourself. I apologize to all who validly wish to comment anonymously; the trolls ruined it for everyone. *sighs*

Stiles and his father arrive at the cemetery together, but Stiles stays after his father goes. The sheriff promises that he won’t be home late, but Stiles doesn’t believe him. It’s Mother’s Day and they realized long ago that they can’t spend it staring at each other. They need to keep busy, _do_ something.

Stiles looks at the gravestone and the flowers in the small pot. “You’d be okay with it if he moved on, wouldn’t you, mom? I mean, we miss you… we _do_ … but…”

There’s a whisper of cold air across the back of his neck, and he sighs with the feeling and presses back into the ghostly touch. Maybe he’s imagining things, or maybe she’s responding. Stiles never knows how much of what he feels here is imagination and given how Claudia died, it’s not something he’s going to look too closely at.

Instead he pulls out his phone and sends a text to his father: _Ask Scott’s mom out. Promise me that you’ll finally do it. Mom would be okay with it._

He turns his phone to silent because he doesn’t want to see the answer and tucks it in his pocket. Then he sits next to the grave, leaning up against her stone, and closes his eyes.

“I love you, Mom,” he whispers, one hand on the dirt over where she lies. “I love you.”

#

Derek has never been to the cemetery in the three years that he has known Stiles. He isn’t exactly sure why he’s here now, except that the sheriff asked him to look in on Stiles, and he can’t leave Stiles to grieve alone.

He knows what that particular pain feels like, after all.

Stiles may not be a wolf, but he must hear something, glancing up as Derek approaches, a slow smile starting that doesn’t reach the whiskey amber of his eyes. “Hey, big guy.”

Derek holds out one hand, and when Stiles takes it and tugs, he makes himself comfortable next to Stiles on the ground rather than pulling him up. “I’m here to take you home.”

“And cheer me up?” Stiles tangles their fingers together. “My dad does realize what that probably entails, right?”

Derek makes a noise that could be yes or could be no; it doesn’t really matter at this point. What matters is that Stiles is pressed along his side and his body is warm and comfortable, and Derek isn’t going to drag him away until he’s ready to go.

“I was actually just telling my mom about you,” Stiles says quietly. “So, good timing. You know?”

Derek tilts his head, taking in the words on the gravestone: her name, the dates of her birth and death, how very young she was when she left this earth. “Only good things, I hope,” he tells her, because the spirits listen, and he has never doubted that _something_ watches over Stiles.

Stiles smirks, squeezing his hand. “Honest things. Like the fact that you’re an asshole. And you once marathoned Gilmore Girls. And you’d rather drink tea than coffee, but don’t want anyone to know.”

His voice fades for a moment, then comes back again, low and firm. “And that I love you, and that I want you in my life, and that I hoped that maybe she could get to meet you. And now you’re here.”

Derek feels the lump forming in his throat, suspicious and tight with unshed tears. “And now I’m here.” He has to pull away from Stiles in order to face the gravestone fully, and it seems strange to kneel while introducing himself so he shifts to a crouch instead, as if he is somehow eye level with her shade.

“I’m Derek,” he says quietly. “Which you already know. And I am insanely in love with your son. Insane because I’d have to be—he’s a handful on a good day—but I wouldn’t give him up. He’s saved my life. I don’t know if he told you that. I’ve saved his, too, and we’ve seen amazing things. Scary things. I thought he was going to die once and if he had, I don’t know if my sanity would’ve gone with him. He’s my anchor, and he’s my humanity. I don’t know if he fully realizes how important he is to me, but he _is_. So it’s a pleasure to meet you, and I wish you were here to see the man he’s become. I’ve heard he takes after you, and if he does, you were one hell of a woman. My mother would’ve liked you.” 

He stops when he realizes he’s rambling and he has no idea where he’s going with these words. Stiles’s hand has snuck into his again, and Derek squeezes gently in response. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “Thank you for giving us Stiles, and raising him, and for watching over him ever since. I’ll take care of him, I promise.”

There are tears in Stiles’s eyes when Derek dares to look, liquid over amber, leaking out at the corners when Stiles blinks. “Damn,” he says.

“All true,” Derek counters.

A flush stains Stiles’s cheeks. “I would kiss you, but this is a place of seriousness, not making out,” he mutters.

“A kiss is not _making out_.” Derek pulls Stiles closer and they both lean into each other as they stand, Derek taking Stiles into his arms and kissing him gently. “Isn’t someone missing here?”

Stiles’s smile quirks wry. “She already knows Scott.” His eyes go wide and he pats his pocket. “Oh fuck, I turned off my phone earlier because I didn’t want dad to start texting me obnoxious things. I didn’t want to see them, anyway.” He manages to get his phone out of his pocket, almost fumbling it before he wakes it up. “I told him mom said he should move on. He’s going to argue. But I almost forgot that Scott—” He stops, a smile slipping free. “Yeah. Scott said we should be at his house at six. I was supposed to tell you.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “Who’s going to be there?”

“Us. His mom.” Stiles catches his lower lip in his teeth. “For obvious reasons.”

Derek nods once. “We have one more place to stop first, then.” He wraps his fingers around Stiles’s wrist, sliding down to tangle their hands together. As they walk away, he glances back over his shoulder, and mouths the words _I love them both, more than I ever thought—God only knows why they love me._

#

The place where the Hale home once stood is now empty, dug up and filled in and replanted with grass and flowers, and a single tree that already grows proud in what used to be the living room. Derek places his fingers on the trunk and takes comfort in the way Stiles stands behind him, arms wrapped around his center.

He doesn’t speak. He has never spoken to his mother here, because he doesn’t think she _is_ here. This is just the only place he can go, now that her claws are lost forever thanks to Peter. There are no spirits, no bones… everything went to ash and blew away on the wind long ago. Derek doesn’t place importance on the remains, only the thought and the intent.

“Should I say something?” Stiles asks softly, and Derek shakes his head.

“I told her about you a long time ago,” he admits. “You. Scott. Everything I knew about Beacon Hills at that point, and she told me…”

Stiles budges up against him, shoulder to shoulder. “What?”

“She told me that sometimes we don’t see the freight train until it’s too late to get off of the tracks.”

“That’s…” Stiles shakes his head. “Odd advice.”

“I was talking to her memory.” That’s not the right word for it. “Her spirit. Embodied in her claws. Her, but not her, but that was exactly the sort of thing she would have said when I was a teenager and she and Dad would have laughed at my bewilderment for days.” Derek gives him a wry smile. “She must have heard something in what I said, because she was right. By the time I figured out what was going on, you’d already run me over.”

“Scott, maybe. _I_ am subtle.”

“Subtle as a brick.” Derek snorts. “You kept showing up, reeking of Scott and want, and offering _back rubs_.”

“You liked to be touched.”

“All wolves like to be touched.”

Stiles grins. “I’ve noticed. Handily, I like touching certain wolves as much as they’ll let me.” His fingers drift over the space between Derek’s shoulder blades, digging in lightly before he reaches for him in earnest. He seeks out the knots of tension brought by grief and pushes at them, rubbing until they relax and Derek drops his head forward with a low moan.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Stiles whispers, breath warm against Derek’s neck.

He can’t refute that. “It worked. And if I still had my mother’s claws, I’d go under again just to tell her that. Send you and Scott under to meet her. She would have been fascinated by you both.”

“And probably threatened us with bodily harm if we hurt you,” Stiles says quietly. Derek has to laugh at that, as well, because he _is_ Talia’s son and they were always so alike.

He misses her now.

He reaches for Stiles, taking his hands and wrapping arms around himself, waiting for that moment when Stiles melts against his back while holding on. “Let’s just stay here a few more minutes, then we’ll go see Scott and Melissa.”

“We should get flowers on the way there,” Stiles murmurs. “For Mother’s Day.”

Derek agrees with a silent nod.

#

Scott can’t wait patiently.

He _tries_. He sprawls in the comfy chair, one leg looped over the arm of it, head tilted as he focuses intently on the Xbox, but it doesn’t help. He lets the car crash in a blaze of fiery doom, then hops up, checking the window again.

“They said they’d be here at five,” Melissa calls out from the kitchen, and Scott freezes, hand still on the curtain.

“I know,” he calls back. He lets the curtain fall, then resists the urge to lift it again and look out, as if they _might_ pull in because he wants them too.

There’s the sound of an engine, but it’s not the Jeep—Scott _knows_ the Jeep, he can feel the low rumble in his bones when it gets near, and that is _not_ it. He makes it to the door before Melissa does, yanking it open and staring in surprise at the sheriff on the doorstep. “Hey.”

The sheriff stands awkwardly, a single white rose in his hand, the petals crushed enough to release the sweet scent. “Hey, Scott. Stiles isn’t here yet?”

“Stiles and Derek are…” Scott waves his hand, because they are _somewhere_ doing _something_ and that’s all totally cool, but they don’t know that they’re about to find two parents, not just one. He steps back, pulling the door open. “Come on in. Mom’s—”

“Right here, and you don’t need to be so protective.” Melissa touches Scott’s head, her fingers gentle before she moves past him and into the sheriff’s personal space. She takes the rose and steals a kiss while Scott stares, because _when did this happen_? 

“Oh.”

She smiles at him. “Yes, _oh_ , my inobservant son. Will this be as much of a surprise to Stiles as it is to you?”

Scott nods dumbly, because honestly, he feels like he should have seen this coming. The clues were there, but his mother and Stiles’s father already spent so much time together. They already smelled like each other. They were already as good as _family_. “Yeah, I think it will. We… we all… we had no idea.”

Melissa watches him, expression concerned. “Are you okay with it. We talked—we thought you and Stiles would be happy.”

“We are! I mean, we will be.” Scott struggles not to shift conversations mid-stride because he and Stiles _are_ happy, and that’s what they’d meant to _tell_ today and now this… this is something else new.

“Is everything okay, Scott?”

“Fine. It’s fine.” He can’t resist looking past them because they should _be_ here by now.

“Why don’t you come help me in the kitchen, John, and give my son some time to find his words again. I’m sure he’ll want to tell on us to Stiles.” She pulls Scott in for a quick hug. “He’ll be here soon.”

“They,” Scott corrects her, but the sheriff doesn’t seem to notice the change as they both head into the kitchen. Scott can hear laughter, but not their low-voiced words, and he likes the way his mother is smiling. That’s always a good thing, and it’s been a long time since she was with someone he liked and trusted.

He’s pretty sure this is actually perfect, and he’s sure Stiles will see it the same way, once they get past the fact that they have their own revelation for the day.

He catches the sound of the Jeep’s engine and makes it to the door and out onto the steps just as Stiles pulls to a stop in the driveway and spills out of the car. 

“Hey, is my dad here?”

Derek follows more slowly, looking from the sheriff’s car to the house, both eyebrows up in an eloquent and absolutely understanding expression. Scott gives them both a rueful smile. “Yeah, he’s in the kitchen with Mom and they’re both…”

“Oh.” Stiles blinks twice rapidly, and Scott catches the hint of sorrow. “Today’s just… it’s just…”

“There is nothing that says you can’t have more than one mother,” Derek says quietly. He hands the flowers he’s holding to Stiles. “Let’s go inside.”

Nerves make Scott’s skin itch and burn, but Derek’s hand at the base of his back helps anchor him. They pause once the door is closed, standing there in the foyer, and Scott licks his lips. They’re going to tell. It’s all going to be okay, and that means he can _do_ this. He leans in, pressing his lips quickly to Derek’s first, then a sloppier kiss to Stiles as they both start to laugh.

“Did I hear… oh.” Melissa stands in the doorway to the kitchen as Scott pulls back from Stiles, and Scott is absolutely _aware_ of how the three of them are clustered together. How Derek’s hand is still on his back, how it slides to his hand and entwines their fingers. How Stiles rests his hand on Scott’s shoulder, and how Scott’s mouth still sings with the taste of Stiles from the kiss.

Melissa turns to call over her shoulder. “John, our boys are here. _All_ of them.”

“All? Ah, hello, Derek.”

“Sir.”

They haven’t moved yet, standing in this tableau. Scott can hear the pounding of heartbeats intermingling in anxiety, and when Stiles’s heart rushes a beat too fast, Scott reaches for him, tangling hands and holding on tight.

“I take it we aren’t the only ones with a surprise for Mother’s Day,” the sheriff says dryly.

“Seems like instead of two sons, I get three, and I can’t think of a better gift.” Melissa hugs Stiles first, then Derek, before she turns back to her own son. She frames Scott’s face in her hands. “I hope you didn’t think I’d have a problem with this, because I don’t. I still love you, and I always will.”

“Same here, son.” The sheriff pulls them in one at a time for a back-thumping hug, and finally— _finally_ —Scott feels like he can breathe again, like there’s room enough in his skin and maybe he can stand still.

“Happy Mother’s Day, Mrs.—” Stiles cuts himself off as he holds out the bouquet of mixed flowers. He shakes his head. “You’ve been Mom to me for a long time,” he says quietly. “I mean, not that it makes my mom any less, but…”

“I know what you mean.” Melissa takes the flowers and points towards the dining room with a smile. “Go on in and set the table, boys.” She catches Derek before he can follow, and Scott tunes in to listen to the conversation from beyond the next wall.

“Is this where you threaten me with bodily harm if I hurt your son?” Derek’s voice is low, calm.

“Not unless you plan to threaten me or my son. I think we’re long past that.” Melissa sighs. “Derek, it’s been a long time since you’ve had a family, and anyone with eyes can see how good you three are with each other, and for each other. John and I aren’t blind; we’ve been aware for some time now that something’s been going on. We were actually trying to figure out which two were dating, and this makes a whole lot more sense the way it is with what’s been happening. No, I just want you to know that I meant what I said. Stiles has been like a son to me for years now, and you’re welcome to be part of the family, too. I’m no replacement for an alpha wolf, but I do have more than eighteen years of experience being a mother, and I’m happy to give you that.”

There is silence and Scott can imagine the way his mother pulls Derek in, hugs him whether he’s looking for it or not. Derek’s voice, when it comes quietly, is muffled. “Thank you.”

“Any time, son.”

Scott peeks around the doorway in time to see her press a kiss to Derek’s forehead, and he grins at the faint flush. Then he throws a balled up napkin at him. “Come on, Derek. Help us out here, like a good son.”

Scott knows he’s lucky. He’s never had to watch his mom die, or lose her to a fire that he felt responsible for. He’s had his mom all along, even when he had no one else, and he treasures that. And right now, he’s happy that he can share her with the two men he loves.

When they’re finally all sitting down, Scott raises his glass of water into the air, waiting for the others to raise their glasses as well. “To our moms,” he says. “To all of them.”

When they drink, Stiles and Derek smile, and Melissa gives a fond, sweet smile to the sheriff, and as far as Scott is concerned, everything is perfect. This is what family is supposed to be.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, please feel welcome to visit me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


End file.
